


Broken Glass and Molted Feathers

by englishcapital



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 02:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12471940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishcapital/pseuds/englishcapital
Summary: It's a quiet night.





	Broken Glass and Molted Feathers

The crunch of broken glass heralded the angel’s arrival as he stepped into the empty alley. Why this woman insisted on living in such conditions, Jophiel would never understand. She’d adamantly refused any offer of letting her stay in his store in a more permanent fashion, even with the assurance that she could pay rent if she wanted.

A bottle smashing directly in front of him had him jerking backwards, wings flapping to steady himself and scattering feathers over the bricks.

“Oh shi- I didn’t see you there! Sorry!” A feminine voice called from above.

Jophiel turned his gaze upwards, readjusting his gloves. The woman hung over the edge of the fire escape, pale hair curling around her face as she looked down at him. Even from down on the ground he could see the way her brows knit together, eyes scanning over his body for any sign of injury.

“I’m fine, Irene.” He called out, holding out both arms to reveal himself, “Just a tad startled, that’s all.”

The woman visibly relaxed, slumping onto the rail, “Well good. Now get your butt up here, it’s a long walk from here to Tune Town and I know how you can get.”

Jophiel laughed softly to himself before spreading his wings, ascending the three stories in a few quick flaps and landing on the fire escape. He shook his wings briefly before folding them back up, leaving the worst of the shed feathers out on the balcony, before ducking his head and stepping inside.

“So, what’s the occasion?” Irene asked, sitting down on one of the mismatched chairs that decorated her apartment, “You’re not one to leave your shop, especially at night.”

“No tenants tonight.” The angel shook his head, hunching down in the cramped apartment as he made his way to the seat beside her.

“Surprising, you’ve been busy lately.” She grinned.

“I can’t tell if it’s good or bad that so many are coming to me for shelter.”

“Everything’s a gray area around here.” Irene snorted, crossing her legs and leaning back in her seat, “I’ve stopped trying to make sense of it all.”

The angel paused, thinking over his words carefully.

“Things are getting worse out there, Irene...” Jophiel began softly.

“I know you’re worried, Jo.” The woman cut him off, “But I promise I’m fine here. I can take care of myself, and the station is close enough to here in case things get _really_ bad.”

“You know that’s not what I’m worried about, Sparks.” Jophiel frowned, shooting her a stern look.

She held his gaze for a few moments before sighing and looking down to the floor, eyes betraying her exhaustion, “...I’m not looking for fights I can’t win. I promise.”

“You were limping.”

Irene winced at the statement, “It wasn’t anything major. Just a little fight between some of the guys around here.”

“You’re going to make enemies if you keep this up, and I’m too far away to protect you.” Jophiel frowned.

“I don’t need protecting.” She snapped, shooting him a glare which immediately withered, “...I’m fine, I promise.”

“Let me see.”

“I told you, it’s not anything major-”

“ _Irene_.”

She bit her lip, giving him a sheepish look before pulling up the hem of her dress, revealing a thin layer of bandages wrapped just above her knee. Irene tugged at the knot holding the fabric in place, letting them fall to the ground as they loosened. A small gash spread horizontally across her leg, halfway finished healing.

“See? Nothing bad.” She insisted.

“You still should have come to see me.” Jophiel sighed, hefting himself up from his chair and making his way to the cabinet in the corner of the room.

“You’re not a healer,” Irene pointed out, “and I can do just as well as you at patching myself up by now.”

“I’d still prefer to know when you manage to get yourself hurt.” Jophiel insisted, sitting back down with a bottle of alcohol and a roll of bandages.

He tore off a few small pieces, coating them with the alcohol before starting to clean out the wound, “You’re lucky it only grazed you. A few inches over and it could have nicked your artery.”

“I know that-”

“You don’t even carry a weapon to defend yourself anymore.”

“Jo, I _know_ -”

“So why did you interfere?”

“ _Because I couldn’t just let them kill themselves._ ” She snapped.

Jophiel went silent, finishing up his work with a sigh and handing over the bandages for Irene to do. He waited until she finished tucking in the ends before speaking again.

“...I know you’re hung up about what happened with your-”

“Jophiel. _Don’t_.” Irene’s tone left no room for argument, “And you don’t have room to judge. You’re running yourself ragged in that shop of yours, don’t think I haven’t noticed those circles under your eyes.”

“That’s not the same, and you know it.” The cherub frowned.

“You’re a light jog away from falling apart, Jo.” Irene’s brow furrowed.

Jophiel sighed, “I’m working on that. There’s methods of keeping an angel in one piece.”

“Methods that you aren’t using yet.” She pointed out.

The two fell into silence once more, both unwilling to look the other in the eye. All that could be heard were the sounds of the nearby tenants rummaging around their bricked-off rooms.

“...We’re an absolute mess.” Irene laughed softly after a minute, forehead dropping to rest on the angel’s shoulder.

Jophiel smiled half-heartedly, wrapping her in a loose hug, “That we are. But we’ll make it through this. Somehow.”


End file.
